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Avery's Section
"Hey, hottie," Avery whistled mentally, her internal monologue as dry as ever.
"Boss, once we reach Capital City, I'm heading straight to the contact."
"So eager?" Soren shot her a sideways glance, mildly curious.
"No dad to love me, no mom to cry for me, and someone's actively trying to kill me."She gave a helpless shrug. "Honestly, survival is priority one. Preferably while wearing designer brands. Gotta get stronger. Gotta dig up dirt."
—Well… meeting stunning women didn't hurt either, she added silently.
The car exited the city and entered the quiet green of the suburbs. Luxury villas dotted both sides of the road, tucked among towering trees and meticulously landscaped gardens. When they turned into a gated community, the whole scene shifted into a forested sanctuary.
Avery stared out the window. She remembered a villa she'd once bought back in her previous life—never furnished, never lived in. Love at first sight, but work had always come first. So she'd stayed downtown. Now she was dead. That villa? Probably belonged to someone else.
Soren's car pulled up to a massive estate—three to four acres, minimum. The outer fence was covered in ivy and blooming roses, dewdrops sparkling like liquid daggers. The thorns looked pretty, but they warned: trespassers bleed.
"This is... your place, Boss?" Avery blinked. Then widened her eyes theatrically. "You brought me home already? I just turned eighteen—I'm not ready for this!"
She gave a devilish grin. "And FYI, if you're planning on getting handsy, one million's not nearly enough."
Soren's look silenced her instantly.
She zipped her lips in pantomime like a stand-up comic bowing after the final punchline.
"Send her to Nyra Night," he ordered coldly. The dashboard let out a mechanical beep—a sound suspiciously like a sniper's empty-chamber click—as a new route popped up.
Soren's Section
Soren leaned against the car door, watching the sleek black sedan disappear around the corner. His smile faded with the precision of a scope settling on its target.
The night air caught in his silver hair, turning it into a blade under the streetlamp.
This girl… was nothing like the report.
But that checked out.People who clawed their way back from death never came back quite right.
Still, that cool, tactical calm? That wasn't trauma. That was training.
"Keep her close," he murmured, fingers tapping the car's frame. "Secrets don't stay buried forever."
The villa's smart gate slid open without a sound. He pulled out his phone and issued a short command:
"Nyra, she's on her way. Indulge her—within reason."
Avery's Section
Meanwhile, Avery's phone was having a seizure.
The cloud-synced contact list and message archive from the original host kept flooding in—missed calls, unread texts. Mostly from so-called "family."
She scrolled absently, but behind her eyes, memory fragments surged.
A genius girl who skipped grades and entered university at eighteen.Then came the beatings. The gaslighting. The despair.That noose-tight grip of blood ties.
Avery exhaled slowly, her gaze sharp as glass.
The original's biggest regret… was family.
But what did she want now—revenge? Or something worse?
One thing was certain: she wasn't going back to that house.
In three minutes flat, Avery booked the most expensive solo apartment in downtown Emberfield.
"Secure building, multiple exits…"LUSTRA was already scanning the floorplan, exit routes pulsing in red like a heist movie overlay.
She snorted at the high-res security cam photos the agent sent. "Twenty-four-hour bodyguard service? Perfect. Just what a delicate little flower like me needs."
All paid for, of course—thanks to her very generous boss, who wired her a salary even before training began.
Soren's Section
Soren had changed into loose sparring gear, mapping out the next phase.
Callan Wolfe's rapid rise was ahead of schedule. That—complicated things.
They'd lost their parents young. Soren knew early what the world was like. He used to be the Wolfe family's golden child, an A-rank prodigy from the side branch.
Back when "talent" meant blood on the training ground, not praise at political dinners.
Then, two years ago, Callan hit mid-tier.
After that, the family spotlight shifted. The prodigy became a footnote.
When Callan got engaged to that so-called "Prophet" from the White family, Soren cut a deal with the Wolfe patriarch: he'd give up his inheritance, step away from the succession race, and publicly back Callan.
Two years passed.Now Callan was nearing Peak Mid-Tier, glowing with reputation inside the PSB.Soon, he'd inherit the Wolfe family completely.
And Soren? He would walk away from the Wolfe name.
But that was always part of the plan.
Do-Re-Mi. The cheery ringtone shattered the silence.
Soren's eye twitched—his only visible reaction. Most men flinched under gunfire. He flinched at this girl's spending alerts.
The same rookie he'd just hired with a signing bonus large enough to fund a minor war?
Spending again.